My Brother's Pain
by ProdigiousGirl
Summary: After the events of 9/11 Canada, America's neighbour, is all too eager to lend a helping hand. Something the Canadian says sparks a memory in America of Canada's own tragedy.  Halifax Explosion, 1917  NO PAIRINGS! Two Part.
1. Part One

My Brother's Pain

A/N: I was reading a fiction the other day about the Italy's convulsing because they had been hit by an earthquake. I remember reading stories like that about America and his 9/11 tragedy. I thought…what about Canada (my favourite character, of course)! Then it hit me! OH YEAH! The Halifax Explosion! So I started writing it at 3 am this morning. Low and behold as I'm researching the incident I find out that today (the day I started writing it – December 6th) is the 94th anniversary of the event. Co-incidence? But anyway, it's a terribly sad tragedy and is considered Canada's version "Hiroshima/Nagasaki", the "Titanic", "Chicago Fire", "Fire of London", etc.

A/N2: Yes, the "Canada Loves New York Weekend Rally" really did happen. Approximately 5,000 Canadians showed up to give support to the City of New York and help raise funds for the Fire Department.

A/N3: I'm hoping to have the second half of this story up by midnight. No promises though. Definitely by the end of the week.

* * *

><p>December 1st, 2001 – New York City, USA (2:25 pm)<p>

America stared in awe of the massive lineup outside the Roseland Ballroom in New York City. The crowd extended itself down the street to the point where he could not even see where it ended. After the attacks on his World Trade Centre, Canada, his neighbour and best friend, had insisted on doing something to cheer him up. America had already been content with Canada's willingness to help all of the two hundred plus American aircraft that could not land after his airspace was closed, but Canada was Canada and the Great White North lived to give.

Today was "Canada loves New York City Day" in the United States, particularly in New York City. America had to admit that he had been anticipating it. All of Canada's plans sounded so exciting. His neighbours own Prime Minister was expected to show up too. So many people had travelled across the border to attend the event. There was no way they would all fit inside the banquet hall. America put on a tough face knowing people would be let down. To his, and his police force's, surprise no one seemed upset at all. They were just happy to be there.

"America!" Canada called out to him, sporting a blue shirt with the event's name on it.

"Oh hey," America smiled. He looked back to the never ending crowd, "I can't believe all these people showed up."

Canada placed a hand on his neighbour's shoulder, "Of course they did. We really want to help. What happened to you was awful. It shouldn't be allowed to happen to anyone."

America gave his look-alike a heart-warming curl of the lips. He and Canada were the ultimate "vitriol best buds". They often scorned each other for the dumbest things and took swipes at each other whenever possible. Canada would nag at America for being too capitalistic and failing to provide his countrymen with adequate healthcare while America berated Canada for replacing his once strong army with flimsy peacekeepers and being a snobby. They'd rub their victories (especially in sports) in each other's faces and take advantage of each other when they were being criticized by others. Despite being utter opposites and their seemingly rocky relationship the two actually had strong feelings for each other. When they worked together, which they often did, they were a formidable force. They had also gained each other's great respect over the last sixty years. They had grown to see each other not just as friends but as "brothers".

"The doors are opening soon." Matthew handed Alfred a folded program.

"It's too bad most of these people are going to miss out."

Matthew winked, "I wouldn't worry."

America paused waiting for a response.

Canada continued, "We contacted the people who control those huge TVs in Times Square. They said they'd put the concert on the screen."

Alfred laughed, slapping his forehead, "Of course you'd do that. That's just like you…putting a giant, creative foot forward."

"Today's a great day," Canada quickly glanced at his watch, then to the crowd, "I want everyone to enjoy it; both my Canadians, and your Americans."

America watched his friend for a second before checking his own watch. Canada interrupted his blank mind.

"Besides, sometimes we need a reminder that there are people who care about us."

Alfred looked up. Canada was staring at the ground sympathetically. He was using his shoe to play with a small stone on the sidewalk.

"I mean," Canada continued, "I know how it feels. You know…to feel alone and in need…"

An event organizer rushed over to Canada causing him to lose his train of thought. The staff member informed the two nations that they were going to open the doors to let people in now. The two countries nodded and made their way inside making sure to wave and thank those who were lined up near the front for their patience.

As the hordes of people made their way inside America found himself staring at Canada. The Canadians words were still in his head. _I know how it feels…to feel lonely and in need…_ Just what was Canada talking about? As he reflected on his own situation it dawned on him.

"Oh…" America whispered to himself, "He means…that day."

* * *

><p>December 6th, 1917 – Boston, Massachusetts, USA (8:35 am)<p>

America stretched rolling out of bed. Releasing a giant yawn, he scratched his back and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and pulled out two pieces of bread. Carefully fitting them into the electric toaster he turned the machine on and twisted the time nob so the toast wouldn't get burnt. While waiting for breakfast to finish heating up the American made his way to the front door to collect his milk bottle and morning newspaper.

Re-entering the kitchen he placed his warm toast on a plate, carrying it over to the table. He sat down, but grumbled when he noticed water leaking from the ice box his refrigerator was sitting on to keep his food cool.

"Man," He wiped up the spillage with a thick, white hand towel, "I need one of those new self-contained fridges, with the compressor on the bottom."

The thought did make him smile however. How technologically advanced he'd become in such a short time. He was now the world's leading maker of house appliances. He even made great automobiles!

Wandering to the backroom, he threw the damp towel in the hamper and returned to the kitchen for a third time. Now he could finally eat. America dressed his toast with butter and chewed rather quickly while reading the paper.

"Let's see," America flipped through the pages, "What's happening on the Western Front today."

A war was raging on in Europe and the American, reluctantly, had finally gotten caught up in all the ruckus. Not only had Germany attacked one of his cruise liners but there was also a potential threat looming from Mexico. It was all too much to ignore, prompting the American to finally declare war in April on Germany and his allies.

America was not the only one fighting. Britain, France, and their dominions and colonies were involved too. The one America was most interested in was Canada, his neighbour. He followed nearly everything the Canuck was doing and experiencing. Everything from the gas attacks on his people in the Second Battle of Ypres in 1914 to the Second Battle of Passchendaele, ending only a month earlier. He found himself becoming rather impression, almost infatuated, with his long-time adversary's strength. He had known Canada was tough – he had to be to have pushed the greatest nation that ever existed back across the border nearly a hundred years ago – but the kid was practically decimating Germany and Prussia on his own.

A knock on the door gave cause for America to put down his paper. It was probably the mailman. The mail services were urging people to put wall-mounted letterboxes or slots in the door to make the process of delivering mail quicker, but as far as America was concerned, if they really wanted it, they could pay for it. Until then he'd continue to answer the door. He liked a good conversation in the morning – helped him wake up.

"Ah," The burly man with a thick brown mustache handed Alfred his bundle of letters and postcards, "Mornin' Mr. Jones."

America nodded, "Mornin' to you too. How's it going?"

"Same as always. I hear you're shippin' out to Europe soon. That right?"

Alfred sighed, "Yeah, unfortunately. I'm not overly enthusiastic about it, though I can't complain too much. I mean, who wouldn't want to run in and be the hero or a horrifying war?"

"I just hope this doesn't have any nasty repercussions for us."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." America shrugged the man's worries off. "I mean, we're strongest country there is!"

The mailman raised an eyebrow. It had been over fifty years since America's last war…and that one was against himself.

America laughed, "Alright, alright. But I will prove it to you and everyone else! There's no better way than the American way!"

The man tipped his hand and made his way down the steps at the front of the house, "I've never doubted you before kid, I don't plan on starting now."

The American grinned watching the mail carrier make his way to the next house. After taking a moment to enjoy the sun's warm rays he closed the door behind him. Looking down he noticed he still wasn't dressed. And he had spoken to the mailman like this! How embarrassing!

Heading back to his room America clothed himself, brushed his teeth, and quickly ran his hands through his smooth, dirty-blond hair.

He made his way back to the front door and exited his home. He had noticed this morning that he was out of eggs so he decided to head to the local farmer's market. Ooh, but he was heading to war soon…would he need a dozen eggs? Shrugging it off, he concluded that he'd go anyway. He could pick up some poultry for dinner and have a nice meal for once. Maybe the cutie next door would come over and join him if he asked her nicely. If he played his cards right, he'd get a little more than that.

Upon reaching the market he checked his pocket watch. It was 9:25 am. He strolled down the aisles looking at all the delicious products on display. He had come for some poultry and eggs (he decided to get them after all) but had left with much more than that. His bag were filled with apples, tomatoes, carrots, and a few "meals in a can" – something that was all the rage with Italian and French soldiers overseas. He had promised Canada in a past letter to send him some as England was hardly able to feed his soldiers anymore. The Canadian was practically living off of cigarettes, chocolate and whatever his country's Victory Bonds could afford – and some preservatives from his homeland's Victory Gardens. What made America feel worst of all was thinking that Dominions like Canada, Australia and New Zealand were being forced to eat England's cooking. Alfred shuddered at the thought.

Making his way home again he noticed a group of men chatting away looking awfully concerned and frightened. America made his way over to them wondering what all the commotion was. There were policeman, fireman, and even a few politicians amongst regular citizens who all seemed eager to make action.

"Hey," America approached the Mayor, "What's going on? Why is everyone so upset?"

"You haven't heard then?" The Mayor of Boston gave a grimace look to his national representative.

"No," Alfred blinked, "Should I have?"

"It's Canada. The Halifax Harbour…the whole city. Gone. It blew up."

America gawked, awestricken. He couldn't think of a word or even sound to express his shock.

* * *

><p>December 6th, 1917 – Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (8:55 am)<p>

Canada carried a large steel tin outside, hoping to attend to his personal Victory Garden. After his success at Passchendaele he had been granted some time off and had decided to head home for a short visit.

As a stream of water pour out of the watering can a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Canada!"

Matthew looked up to see one of the privates who had returned with him running towards him. He was wearing his army uniform and waving frantically, sweat running down his face.

At first Canada was concerned, but he had fought with this particular soldier in the trenches and knew this young boy, no more than seventeen, tended to be a bit of a worrier.

"Jackson," The Canadian spoke to the Halifax native in a comforting voice, "You don't have to call me that. We're friends. You can call me Matthew."

Jackson didn't have time for pleasantries as he stopped to catch his breath momentarily. "Mr. William's, sir," he started, ignoring Canada's friendly request. The young man had chosen not to be formal with the nation since humans often got chastised for doing so. There was great concern amongst soldiers and Generals, not to mention political leaders, that favouritism might arise out of sharing a bond with one of the personified countries. "I received a wired telegram! There's been an accident at the Harbour!"

Canada blinked for a moment, taking all of the information in. He had a pretty solid system for ships coming in and out. How could this have happened? "What happened?"

"The _Norwegian Imo_ was leaving," Canada nodded listening. He recalled they had scheduled to leave the dock that morning, "but there was a tugboat coming in so they had to exit on the right side."

Uh-oh. Canada's system called for incoming boats to enter on the right side of _The Narrow_, and ships leaving were supposed to travel up the left side. This already had disaster written on it. "And?"

"And the _Imo_ was travelling too fast sir! Seven knots!" That was _way_ too fast to be travelling in _The Narrow_.

"Did they hit the tugboat?"

"No sir, but," The young man shuffled his feet looking incredibly nervous; "it hit a bigger ship."

"A bigger one!"

"Yes, the _Mont Blanc_."

Matthew tilted his head in confusion. He'd heard of the _Mont Blanc_, it was one of France's cargo ships. He figured the Navy Harbour Commander, Frederick Wyatt, had cleared the vessel to enter. Last Canada had checked it was on route from New York where it had picked up wartime ammunitions.

The young man continued, "The Mont Blanc signalled that it had the right-of-way, but the Imo wouldn't get out of the way. They hit each other around 8:40 this morning."

Canada looked at his watch. That was fifteen minutes ago. Why was he only hearing about this now?

"They caught fire about ten minutes later."

_Ah_, Canada thought to himself. That's probably when this solider had started running up the hill where Canada's house stood surrounded by nothing but grass and a few trees. He had decided to live farther away from the ocean because every time he looked out there all he could think of was Louisburg and the Seven Years War. It gave him chills to think of what America and England had done to the Acadians, and how France had abandoned him when he was needed the most. The only good memory he had east of his Maritime home was the signing of his Confederation Papers in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.

"Sir," Canada's attention was caught by the frantic, young Haligonian, "There are explosives on _the Mont Blanc_! They're trying to get people to evacuate the city."

The northern nation dropped his water can and ran towards where the hill slopped down to the city. When he got there, followed by Jackson, he watched in horror as snow billowed up from the ships as they drifted eerily close to Richmond, near the north end of the city. How had Canada missed the smoke before? He frowned knowing all too well that his distraction was caused by his desire for a normal, peaceful day. He was angry at himself for not having paid attention, especially since he had spent the past three years heightening his instincts and senses.

Turning back to his house Canada took off at lightning speed. He called back to Jackson to inform him that he was going to change and head down to the harbour. The Halifax soldier took off down the hill and back towards where he had come from.

Canada quickly pulled his black, knee-high boots and threw on his grey Service Dress jacket. His Battle Dress blouse hung loosely, as he was in too much of a rush to tuck it in. He also neglected to do up any of the seven, medium sized buttons on his dark, sandy-brown Service jacket. Looking quickly at his watch, 9:04 am, he raced out the door.

As his foot hit the giant stone block acting as a welcome mat at his front door a large tremor made him lose balance. The landscape shook violently as Matthew fell to the ground. As his hit the dirt below him a blinding flash of light crossed the sky.

"What the-" Canada barely had time to conclude what had just occurred as a powerful gust of wind knocked him back. He had to grab onto the corner of the stone mat just to hold himself down. The windows of his house rattled, one breaking into pieces. The Canadian got up rather dazed. He was a good forty minute walk away from the harbour but had felt the enormous eruption for where he stood. He shuddered. If he and his home were affected from this far out…what condition would the harbour and the city be in?


	2. Part Two  Conclusion

N/A: Thanks to Katianne who caught my mistake. I accidently wrote that Canada pushed America (and the British) out of Montreal in the Battle of the Plains of Abraham...it should've been Quebec City. I had thought it was Quebec City that they had fled to. It's fixed now. Thanks again!

PART TWO

* * *

><p>December 6th, 1917 – Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (4: 30 pm)<p>

The sun was started to disappear as America and his relief ship pulled in. After the American had received confirmation that Halifax had indeed become victim to a terrible explosion the young nation set off to collect a large number of volunteers from the Boston area to assist Canada in the clean-up.

What met Alfred was a gruesome sight. The city had been completely demolished. Buildings near the water had been destroyed and body parts were lying all over. Looking around there were also signs of a tsunami having swept through. America shuddered. He couldn't recall a city ever having looked like this.

America very carefully made his way off the ship. He didn't know what to do first. Seeing Canadians helping dig out survivors from collapsed buildings he wanted to rush over and help, but he also wanted to find the home nation as well.

Running over to a middle-aged woman he tapped her on the back, "Excuse me, ma'am?"

The woman turned around, bloodied, cut up like a raw piece of meat. Her eyes squinted and in the tint of the remaining daylight America could see tiny shards of glass surrounding her pupils. He stepped back, wide-eyed. "O-oh…I'm sorry."

The woman stood frozen for a moment, not saying anything until a young man put a blanket around her shoulders and guided her away.

Alfred watched with heavy eyes as large groups of people, torn apart and broken, were carried off to medical centers being set up by the newly arrived Bostonians.

"P-pardon me, sir," America shot his head to his left to see a young soldier staring at him. "A-are y-you…America, sir?"

Fighting back his emotions, America stood tall, "Yeah. I am."

"H-have you come t-t-t-o help us?" The young man stuttered, suffering from shock. Whether it was a result from the recent explosion or trench warfare in Europe America could not be certain of.

He nodded in reply, "Yeah. We've brought as many doctors and medical equipment as we could."

America's stature tensed as the man sluggishly made his way up to him. The soldier, in his late teens, dropped to the ground and hugged the American's legs, shaking and crying, "T-thank…y-y-you."

Heartbroken and speechless Alfred patted his head. It was all too clear to him now; he had to find Canada.

After wandering around for a half hour, questioning anyone who had time to stop, America finally found Canada. The scene before him made his heart stop.

Canada was on an isolated beach not too far from the harbour. He looked dazed and robotic as he sat on his legs, mindlessly picking up chunks of steel and metal that surrounded him. America frowned as his neighbour trembled, clutching the pieces of debris in his arm. Had Alfred not seen the damage done to this city he would've guessed the Canadian was a crazy person.

Swallowing his nerves the American made his way towards his northern counterpart. He whispered as he approached, "Canada."

Matthew didn't bother looking up. He quietly chatted to himself, "Everything's ok. Everything's fine. I missed a piece."

Alfred crouched down placing a comforting hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I…heard what happened. I brought people to help. You know…just being the hero."

When America first heard about the incident he was shocked, but shock had quickly turned to excitement. It was his big chance to prove how great he was and why everyone should look up to him. His status as a nation was growing stronger everyday but he still wasn't at the same level as nations like Britain and France. Despite all of his advances he still felt the rest of the world saw him as being inferior to the European powers. When he entered the war the world took great notice and declared him a hero for rescuing a needy Western Europe. The disaster in Canada was only going to add to his rising reputation.

However, now that America was here he had lost all enthusiasm. It was completely different from what he had imagined. He figured he'd roll in, put some fires out, bandage some scrapes, shake some hands and leave a hero. This was far worse than he had anticipated. Canada's mental state was far worse than he had anticipated.

Alfred clearly remembered fighting Canada in the Seven Years War. When he pushed him out of Quebec City during the Battle on the Plains of Abraham, the Canadian fled but never flinched. When he, Ireland and Scotland had forced Matthew, Mathieu back then, to surrender Quebec City, the Canadian set fire to his own flags, refusing to admit total defeat. Canada had also maintained a strong sense of pride as he battled America in the War of 1812, refusing to back down even as one of his important cities, York (now Toronto) burned to the ground.

Now, here he was before America, shivering like a child.

Alfred carefully extended his arms, grabbing Canada in a warm embrace. The two had been estranged up until now, but all that would be put aside. His adopted brother needed someone strong and confident to get him back on his feet.

As Canada slid into America's chest he stopped babbling to himself. His forward stare was a dead one as he froze in place. Alfred ran a hand through his brother's hair and spoke gently to him. "Don't worry, we'll clean this up. Everything will be back to normal before you know it."

At once Matthew broke into tears. He was crying so hard he had to gasp for air. Alfred could feel him vibrating so much he seemed to be bouncing off his body.

Canada managed to control himself enough to speak between sobs and heavy breaths, "I…don't understand. …Did…I do something…wrong?"

America frowned, "Of course not. You know as well as I do that harbour traffic accidents happen all the time. Unfortunately, one of these ships had a crazy amount of explosives on it. That's all."

America tried to make it seem like it was a simple fix, but he was fooling no one. They both knew the magnitude of this explosion. It was nothing like the world had ever seen before.

Matthew pushed off the American's chest and stared into his blue eyes. His own had turned red from the intense crying, "It was Germany wasn't it! He's trying to get me! He's mad because of what I did to him at Vimy! At Passchendaele!"

Alfred pulled Canada back in, "I don't know. I think it was just an accident. A really, really bad accident."

Hearing his companion break out into another hysterical cry America found his own face littered with wet tears. He breathed in stronger, trying not to break down himself. He laid his head down on Canada's and hugged a little tighter, rubbing the decimated nation's back.

* * *

><p>December 6th, 1917 – Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (7: 00 pm)<p>

America walked around the harbour front, taking note of the damage. After settling Canada down he agreed to assist in the clean-up efforts around the city.

By the time America had cleaned and dressed Canada in warmer, fresher close the snow had begun falling and settling on the ground.

People were rushing around the city carrying the dead to centres where their names could be counted. The severely wounded were having cuts bandaged up, and destroyed limbs amputated. Many were being transported to Camp Hill Hospital where medical material was quickly being used up. Medical thread had to be replaced by cotton thread in order to keep pace with all the patients. America had attempted to count those who had gone blind. He found it sad and pointless after reaching two hundred and fifty plus.

Two small children were huddled under blankets. The smaller of the two, scarcely three or four, had a large tear in his face, a flab of skin dangling off his chin. The older two was missing two fingers. America stared feeling sympathetic. "Where are their parents?" He whispers aloud to himself.

A passing medical officer surprised him by answering, "Dead. Both of 'em."

The answer made his stomach tie in knots. America had heard through gossip and whispers that entire families had been destroyed in the blast; Parents, children, even grandparents. As a country he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose a family member. He was estranged from Canada, suspicious of England, and hated France, but the thought of losing them in an instant caused him enormous grief. How lonely and destitute single survivors must feel.

Canada stood silently, watching American scan the scenery. When America had finally taken notice on him he smiled.

"Ready?" America grinned.

Matthew nodded, "Yes. The more people we can help, the better I'm sure I'll feel."

Alfred had decided against telling Canada about the little, homeless boys. He'd already seen and heard enough bad news.

The two spend ten pulling wood and bricks off of people trapped in buildings. They covered bruises with gauze and bandages, and shreds of clothing after they no longer had the former to cover people's injuries with. They worked diligently to put out fires and reunited families. They gave hungry people some hot cocoa and helped a few children bury their dead pets.

All the while the storm continued to pick up. By the late evening the heavy snow turned into a blizzard the rescuers were advised to take shelter. Canada looked rather panicked.

"You don't understand! There are still more people out there!" He tugged at America's arm trying to head back outside to brave the storm.

America gently pulled back, "We can't. It's too cold and we wouldn't be able to see a thing."

Matthew glared, tears forming in his eyes, "I can't give up on them! I'm not afraid of a little bit of snow!"

Alfred sighed and pushed open the door. There was more than 'a little bit of snow' out there. It was a raging blizzard. America looked back at Canada, who shook and weeping realizing there was nothing more he could do. The American walked back to his neighbour and hugged him. This day just kept getting worse and worse.

* * *

><p>December 12th, 1917 - Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (3: 00 pm)<p>

The courtroom was packed wall-to-wall with people. Journalists were pushing to get outside as the jury exited their assigned seats.

America had managed to get there earlier enough to grab a seat for the trials. He had been interested to see how things would develop.

It had taken Canada four days to grieve over all those lost. Roughly two thousand in total with nine thousand injured. The anxiety and depression gave way to anger as the Canadian had begun to demand answers.

A court date had been set and the trial went on as planned.

It was one-sided affair. The captain and pilot of _SS_ _Imo_ had been killed and only one crew member (and officer) survived but did not see what happened because he was not on deck during collision. All members of _Mont Blanc_ escaped without a scratch. During the trial they were subjected to a harsh inquisition. They desperately pleaded that they were on the right side, and the Imo was headed straight for them on collision course. Under oath they testified that both ships tried to avoid each other but turned to the west at the same time, causing the collision. Members of an American ship, feeling free to speak with their national representative watching, gave eye witness testimony, as their ship had been docked in the harbour at the time, as well as surviving members of the _SS Imo_.

All the accounts of the trial were conflicted regarding speed, whistles, and course of the ships.

America had been right. It was not caused by the Germans. He knew what German sabotage looked like. He had been attacked by them a year and half early in New Jersey. An event the city now called the "Black Tom" explosion.

He looked over to Canada who was still in the courtroom, pacing back and forth. His fists were clenched and, though America could not see it, he knew his teeth were grinding too.

Canada's success out on the battlefield had made him slightly arrogant. He now felt comfortable telling England off if he felt the Brit was mistreating him or taking advantage of him. The mixed feelings of December 6th, were taking a toll on him as his raw, negative emotions were being splash at everyone. Even America had received some harsh treatment.

When a train from Boston pulled up on December 8th, Canada had demanded to know why it had taken them so long to arrive. Trains from New Brunswick had gotten there within hours of the explosion and Canada had seemingly expected the American aid to arrive faster.

Normally America would have lashed back but he knew his adopted brother just wasn't himself.

"_I'm sorry," Canada apologized, tightening his fist into a ball, "I'm just…"_

"_I know," America smiled sympathetically, "you're just worked up. Who wouldn't be?"_

_Canada smiled back, "I do appreciate your help though."_

"_Yeah, of course!" Alfred gave a thumps-up, "Just…well…at least TRY to not be jerk, ok? We're all doing our best here."_

_Matthew sighed, "I know. I just want to get to the bottom of this. I want to put it to rest so the city can rebuild."_

America sat in his seat watching his brother point at a piece of paper, most likely discussing key points in his argument against the offenders. He decided he'd stand by and be supportive no matter what – even if Canada was going a little overboard with interrogation and accusations.

* * *

><p>December 23th, 1918 – Boston, Massachusetts, USA (5: 27 pm)<p>

America grunted carrying four large, red paper bags on his arms. They were filled with last minute gifts for colleagues that he'd neglected to buy anything for in the previous weeks.

All the walking around was causing his feet to hurt so he slouched down onto a bench near the centre of the city.

"Apple sauce," He cursed to himself, "I should've written a list. I hate last minute shopping. One of these days I'm going to invent something to make it easier. Something that'll give me quick, direct access to information and products I want. Kind of like the telegraph, only more…visual."

He pulled his pocket watch out to check the time. It was 5:30. Almost immediately something bright lite up and caught his attention. He gazed up to a giant tree, decorated with care.

"Well," he smiled, talking quietly to himself, "Isn't that amazing…"

He leaned back to take the sight in. The tree had arrived a few weeks earlier from Canada as a gift. The northern nation had delivered it himself. He wanted to do something nice for America after all the hard work and support that the Bostonians had provided.

The trial had not ended so well for the city. At first, Canada put all the blame on the Mont Blanc. Alfred didn't know whether this was because they were the only crew left living, thus the easiest to blame, or if Canada was still punishing France for having abandoned him over 150 years ago. He also seemed to, in some way, blame himself having Wyatt, the Canadian in charge of the harbour, imprisoned for manslaughter. Wyatt, Captain Aimé Le Medec and Pilot Francis Mackey, both of the _Mont Blanc_, were released on bail and the owners of the vessels ended up suing each other for damages to the tune of two million dollars. Canada had tried to control the trial as much as possible, but as things escalated he was forced to turn the matter over to England and his Privy Council in London for the final decision. In the end England had decided that both ships had an opportunity to turn astern to avoid each other and had failed to do so, thus the blame lay with both of them.

America gathered his bags after stretching, readying himself for the not-so-long haul home. He still had a lot of wrapping to do and for this first time, he and Canada were exchanging gifts. He grinned, taking off with a bounce in his step. Unlike last year, this year was going to be a great Christmas.

* * *

><p>December 1st, 2001 – New York City, USA (4:15 pm)<p>

"Hey," Canada poked America in the rib cage, "What are you doing? You look like you've been spacing out for the last hour or so."

America nearly jumped out of his skin upon contact, "Huh! What! Oh jeez…Canada…dude, don't friggin' scare me like that!"

Canada smiled, trying not to laugh, "Sorry, but you looked zoned out. Kind of like a zombie. What's on your mind?"

"Uh," America couldn't bring himself to tell the other what he was thinking about, "nothing, just…wondering what we're going to do next. You know...the Towers and everything..."

"Well," Canada thought allowed, "You're already declaring war so…I'd put a long one of those down as my bet."

Alfred, annoying, crossed his arms and glared at his adopted brother, "Yeah, a war you refuse to help me with."

Matthew sighed, "I just think you might be getting a little ahead of yourself. It's never good to do that. Trust me."

The American's expression softened as the Great White North turned away sheepishly. The Canadian waved goodbye as a guest flagged him over to inquire about further plans for the weekend rally. America watched the graceful figure glide past visitors and smirked. He was certain that Canada was speaking from his own experience of nearly eighty-five years ago. There were still survivors, few and far between as they were, to act as a constant reminder. Matthew had acted rash himself, and in the end only ended up disappointing himself and his people. America too, had made a hasty decision, but there was no going back now. _Besides_, he argued to himself_, this is for world freedom! I'm fighting terrorism not a bunch of dimwits who can't steer a boat!_

He nodded, feeling satisfied with his reasoning. He did however; carry respect for Canada's concern, simply pleased that, regardless of what military action the northern nation would take, he had endless love and support for the people. America felt rather proud to think that maybe, just maybe, his unconditional love and assistance on that day had led Matthew to want to help others, eventually making Canada one of the most compassionate and helpful nations in the world. Sometimes giving a little means getting a lot back.

* * *

><p>Historical Notes:<p>

~On December 6th, 1917 two vessels, the Norwegean SS Imo and the French cargo ship the Mont Blanc collided with each other in the Halifax Harbour. No one seemed relatively worried about it since ships tended to have traffic accidents all the time. It was even more common during wartime. However, the Mont Blanc was carrying dangerous explosives: 226,797 kg of TNT, 2,146,830 kg of picric acid, 56,301 kg of guncotton and 223,188 kg of Benzol. After drifting towards the North of the city, close to Dartmouth and Richmond the Mont Blanc exploded. The pressure wave that ensued was strong enough to snap trees and bend steel.

~Up to two thousands lives were lost. There were various causes of death; the most common was being torn apart by shattered glass. After the explosion a tsunami swept the cost carrying the wounded or dead near the harbour out to sea. Many people also died from exposure to the elements, as a terrible blizzard blanketed the city that evening making it impossible to rescue those trapped inside collapsed buildings.

~After the explosion medical aid came quickly from areas all over the Atlantic side of the continent. Aside from those stationed in Halifax some of the first aid came from British and Canadian Naval ships. Two of the first on the scene was England's HMS Highflyer and the conjointly owned (England/Canada) HMS Calgarian who was in the harbour at the time of the explosion.

~The American ship arriving in the harbour in this story is fiction, but American aid, particularly from Boston, did come later, and in great amounts. The part of the story about the train arriving on December 8th is true! They got there at 3 am, after battling heavy snow through the Maritimes.

~The information about the trial in this fiction is also true. (Aside from Canada's fits, of course…since he doesn't exist for real…or does he? Hmmm). Also, the finally ruling didn't come until 1919.

~Lastly, the story about the Boston Christmas tree is also true. I'm not sure when the gift giving ended, maybe it was only the one year (1918), but the practice was revived in 1971 and continues as a tradition between the City of Halifax and City of Boston to this day.

~The Halifax Explosion is to date, the largest man-made accidental catastrophe in recorded history. The cause and effects of the explosion were studied by the American group who (eventually) created the atomic bomb.

~Also, "applesauce" was really a swear word back in the 1920's…just so you know.

SOURCES:

1. Me (waves university degree in Canadian History with pride)

2. CBC Digital Archives

3. Government of Nova Scotia Website

4. Wiki ( ;-; Sorry… most of the info I cited from here was cited from a credible source)


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